


Worst Foot Forward

by Mossy_Birch (Mossy_Bench)



Category: Stellar Firma (Podcast)
Genre: First Impressions, First Meetings, Gen, Obligatory Foot Kink Reference, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossy_Bench/pseuds/Mossy_Birch
Summary: Newly-promoted, Hartro goes to her first company function as a line manager.
Relationships: Trexel Geistman & Hartro Piltz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28
Collections: Multifandom Drabble 2020





	Worst Foot Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syrupwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/gifts).



> I saw that you were requesting Stellar Firma and just had to write you a treat!
> 
> (This fic is 300 words—AO3 counts things like I.M.O.G.E.N. as multiple words.)

"Visit the executive spa soon, now that you have access to it," advised Chaviel, an organizer of the quarterly line-manager-exclusive functions. "The foot massages are divine."

"That sounds wonderful," Hartro began, but was interrupted when someone slammed into her back. The contents of Hartro's glass spilled all over her carefully pressed uniform.

Hartro turned, fuming. "Who in the Board's name-"

The person who'd bumped into her seemed too sloshed to care. "The _nerve!_ I don't appreciate you wasting perfectly serviceable alcohol when it could be going to the very good cause of me drinking it."

Hartro frowned. "Are you allowed to be here?"

The man looked indignant. "Of course I am, how else could I be here?"

_Party interloper detected. Security alerted._

At I.M.O.G.E.N.'s voice, the man froze, barked, “This is all your fault!” at Hartro, and ran off into the crowd.

A sigh. Hartro looked over. Chaviel was shaking her head. "Security will take care of him. They always do."

Hartro was still irked by that brief, nonsensical interaction. "This isn’t the first time?"

“No," said Chavriel.

Security burst into the room, lightly armed. Nobody batted an eye.

" _That's_ Trexel Geistman,” Chaviel continued. “I pity the poor soul in charge of managing him. He drove the last one crazy, you know, literally crazy.”

Hartro blinked. She would get her assignments tomorrow morning. "Wait, is he—that one?"

While asking, Harto realized she already knew the answer. Anecdotes surfaced from her memory, all various shades of horrific. She felt, for the first time after being promoted, a sense of dread.

An enormous crash on the other side of the room was followed by, "You've got the wrong man!"—soon silenced by Security's tranquilizers.

“Good, now that's taken care of. Let’s enjoy the rest of the evening.”

But Hartro found that she couldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, pre-Trexel!Hartro, my sweet summer child: still in possession of some patience. You don't know how good you have it.


End file.
